


96. Out and about in Los Gigantes

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [96]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	96. Out and about in Los Gigantes

_**Sam and Ryan[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/) : out and about in Los Gigantes** _   
**players only. current. takes place on Tenerife (Canary Islands).**

Sam's wearing a day's worth of scruff, dark sunglasses and a baseball cap when they leave the villa. So far they've been lucky and the paparazzi has shown little interest in following them here to Tenerife but with everyone in both fucking hemispheres armed with cameras via their cellphones these days, the absence of professional photographers doesn't mean they can let their guard down. They walk the five minutes to the marina with the plan they'll have lunch there, overlooking the water, before they head inland and uphill a bit to check out the central plaza and shops. "Nice boats," Sam says, surveying the ones docked here. "You sail?" he asks Ryan. It's not something that's come up before.

"I have. I'm not amazing at it," Ryan answers. Which in Ryan-speak means he's never taken first place in a sailing race. He looks over at his lover, eyeing the way Sam's plain blue t-shirt pulls across his chest, defining his muscles. "You?"

"Nah." Sam shakes his head. "Do you know enough to teach me?" he asks, glancing at Ryan and grinning when he catches Ryan eyeing him.

"Probably not. I know just enough to capsize us," Ryan chuckles. "And I can think of much more fun ways to die." God, that devilish grin. Ryan shoves his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing Sam and kissing him.

"I bet you can," Sam murmurs, eyes sparkling behind his sunglasses. "I was serious though. Would you want to learn?"

"Oh. Yeah," Ryan agrees. "That'd be fun." And it might actually make them keep their hands off each other for a few hours.

"I'll look into it for my next day off," Sam says, still committed to their plans for today. "We have lunch and souvenir shopping to take care of." And mums who'll be after both of them if they don't get something nice from their time here.

They arrive at the restaurant and Ryan holds the door open for his lover to pass through. "Can we get a table by the water?" he asks the maitre d'. It's gorgeous out. He wants to take advantage of it.

"Si, Senor." The maitre d' motions to a waiter and hands over two menus. "Please follow..."

They're led to a table right at the very front, overlooking the water, early enough still to miss the main lunch crowd here. "Agua sin gas, por favor," Sam orders, "y cerveza." He checks the drinks list. "Dorada?" The waiter nods. "Gracias."

"I'm impressed," Ryan murmurs. He caught 'cerveza' and he holds up his hand. "Um, dos, por favor." He waits until their server walks away before he leans across the table with a big grin. "Say something dirty in Spanish," he whispers, remembering when he taught Sam a bit of obscene German.

Sam laughs. "I don't know enough Spanish to say something dirty. Um." He racks his brains. Laughing some more as he leans in and whispers across the table, "Quiero metértela por el culo."

"I have absolutely no idea what that means," Ryan says with a laugh, "but it sounds sexy when you say it."

"It means," Christ. Sam is almost blushing, his hand half in front of his mouth so no one else'll hear them. "It means I want to put it in your ass."

Ryan's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, then he tips his head back and laughs. "Probably true," he says, still snickering. "And probably for any definition of 'it', seeing as it's you." He loves that about Sam.

"Yeah, I never did find time for that wine bottle," Sam murmurs, his cock jerking so fucking violently at the thought he's actually left lightheaded.

"Yeah, you're right," Ryan murmurs. Great, now he's getting a fucking hard-on and they haven't even ordered lunch yet. He opens his menu. "Maybe there's a wine list..."

"We'll grab a bottle on the way home," Sam says, watching Ryan closely. "What are you going to have? I'm gonna have the gambas al pil pil. It comes with bread."

"Um." Ryan glances up at Sam before returning his gaze to his menu, but the print swims before his eyes for a moment before he can make himself focus. "The seafood paella," he decides, and sets the menu aside, then looks out to sea. "This is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen," he says softly, watching the breakers rush up to the pier.

Sam nods, wishing he could reach across and take Ryan's hand. "I don't think I looked at it the same way the last time I was here," he says, following Ryan's gaze.

"You couldn't appreciate it?" Ryan asks, eyeing his lover curiously. "Did you have something else on your mind?"

"No, but with no one at home and working twelve-to-fourteen hour days six days a week..." Sam shrugs a little. "Any time I did have off was spent eating, drinking and sleeping. And occasionally fucking."

"How did you find someone to fuck, way out here?" Ryan asks, thinking that the nearest Citadel is probably in London. Then he thinks about what he's asking, who he's asking. "You know what?" He laughs. "Never mind."

Sam just grins.

Ryan grins and kicks Sam lightly under the table. "Slut," he mouths, as the waiter delivers their beers.

"Hey. You wouldn't have me any other way," Sam protests, laughing. He grins at their waiter and orders his shrimp, waiting until Ryan orders his paella before leaning in and whispering, "Apollo."

At first Ryan just looks at Sam in confusion, then his face clears. "No way," he breathes, thinking back to the actor in question; he's certainly seen the film enough times. He leans in. "He's one of those really screamy bottoms, isn't he?" he asks with a knowing expression, and nods. "He looks it." Like Ryan has any room to talk.

"Pretty much," Sam says, laughing and clinking his beer bottle against Ryan's. "You'd like him though. He's a good guy and he's actually out."

"That's cool," Ryan agrees, although he's surprised Sam trusted the man. Apparently it was the right call. "I bet I wouldn't like him," he says, taking a swallow his beer. "You know how fucking competitive I am." He grins, his eyes sparkling.

"You'd want to prove you're the bigger screamy bottom?" Sam teases.

"Damn right. I scream louder and I'm proud of it," Ryan agrees. Then he drops his voice. "Plus, I know how to make _you_ scream." He's even more fucking proud of that.

Fuck. Sam shifts in his seat. "Speaking of which..." he murmurs, taking a sip of his beer. "It's been a while."

Ryan's breath catches, and it's a moment before he can speak. "Since that day in your trailer," he replies softly, thinking about it. "And you kept pretty quiet." He bites his lip, feeling the blood throb in his cock.

"That could be your reward for taking the wine bottle," Sam says, careful to keep his voice low, his words just between them.

God. Ryan bites down harder, then nods. "Yes, Sir," he whispers. On the one hand, he's grateful his shorts are so loose. On the other hand, when he goes to stand up... He knocks back a swallow of his beer, willing his erection to go down.

"There's our food," Sam says, nodding behind Ryan, groaning with anticipation as the still sizzling skillet of shrimp in oil, garlic and chilies is set down in front of him alongside a basket of fresh crusty bread. "Trade you a shrimp for a bite of your paella."

"Absolutely." Ryan scoops paella onto his bread plate, making sure Sam has a good serving of fresh seafood. "God, this smells amazing. I bet it was caught fresh right here."

"You didn't have to give me that much," Sam protests but he takes the plate anyway and slides a couple of shrimp onto Ryan's plate. "Have some bread. Dip it in the oil. It's _so_ good."

"Okay. But shrimp first, though." Ryan has priorities. He bites the head off a fat shrimp, then grabs his beer and knocks back a swallow. "Good. Spicy," he chuckles, and drags a piece of bread through the seasoned olive oil. "I'll have to order that next time." He's still amazed by the amount of traveling Sam has done, leaving him with favourite restaurants across the globe.

"Mm. Your paella's good though too," Sam says, groaning at the first bite. "There's this place in the south of Spain where they do it up in these huge shallow pans," holding his hands three feet apart, "and it's all you can eat and you just keep going back. It's right on the beach and you could just sit there all day and eat paella."

"That sounds amazing," Ryan says. "Lying down in the sand to wait for yourself to digest so you can go back for more," he grins. "You might run out of reasons to leave the beach. Why don't they do that in Los Angeles?"

"I guess not as many people like paella," Sam says. "Here it's like eating wings or barbecue is in the States. Everyone has their favourite place and they even have contests."

"Ahh, like a Texas chili cook-off. Got it." They eat in appreciative silence for a few minutes, and Ryan looks out to sea at the boats and ships on the horizon. "I bet we could rent a yacht," he remarks, "and travel on it for a few days." He has clearly gotten way too comfortable spending Sam's money.

"I have the whole next weekend off," Sam supplies helpfully, clearly liking the idea.

"Yeah?" Ryan grins and folds his arms on the table, leaning in closer. "Let me take you away from all this."

Grinning back, Sam nods. Ryan makes him so fucking happy. "You set it up and I'll be there."

"Awesome." Ryan smiles back, his adoration clear on his face until he remembers where they are. He looks down at his plate, the remains of his lunch, but he can't entirely wipe away the curving of his lips. "What should we pick up for your mum?" he asks, figuring that topic is neutral enough.

"She already told me she wants some lace or basketwork," Sam says, laughing softly. "What about yours?"

"Something she can't find in Sydney," Ryan answers. "Those were her words. I guess I'm to use my imagination. And I need to get a shot glass for my brother, of course. I think Tim's got a couple hundred by now."

"He collects them?" Sam coughs a little as the heat of the chilies starts to get to him. "Oh, man." He gestures to the waiter for a refill on his beer. "You want another one?"

"Yes, please." Ryan nods at their waiter. "And yeah, I remember he started back when he was in school. Personally I can't imagine having that much useless _stuff_ , you know? But I guess it's better than collecting bowling balls." Ryan snags another shrimp off Sam's plate.

"Yeah, and this way Jenny might actually let him keep it," Sam says. "Good, isn't it?" he adds, offering Ryan some more bread.

"It's really good," Ryan agrees, finishing off his beer. "I should cook you more spicy food." Not that they need the aphrodisiacs...

"Like chili?" Sam grins.

"Is that a hint?" Ryan asks with a chuckle. "All right, a big hint. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can manage a chili for you." He loves cooking for Sam. Because Sam so obviously appreciates his efforts.

"What about tacos?" Fuck. There's no way other food should sound so good when he's got an amazing meal in front of him but Sam loves food. Loves Ryan's cooking too. Well, except for the weird stuff, but even then Ryan's willing to make him a sandwich if he doesn't like it.

"Tacos. Got it." Ryan laughs. "Maybe you should start making me a list. You know, like that list I made for you a while back? I need to get back to that, actually." His top ten kinky wishes, although he's pretty sure he came up with more than ten.

"I can do that, and you should," Sam nods, using an end crust to sop up the last of the oil and spices from the skillet. "I should also go back and see how many of them we've done."

"Check off that list." Finished with his meal, Ryan pushes his plate aside and works on his beer. "Know what else you should do? Add a few of your own. I'd love to, um," he drops his voice. "Fulfill a fantasy for you."

"Like you haven't already," Sam murmurs with a smile, peeling the label from his beer bottle.

God, that smile -- it just makes Ryan feel all gooey inside. "You should tell me about that sometime," he murmurs back, feeling his cheeks flush with warmth.

"I will, when we're not surrounded by people," Sam says softly, watching Ryan. "Do you want some dessert? More beer?"

"Let's get some dessert later, and bring it home," Ryan suggests. If he stays here much longer he's bound to get hard again, and he's finally at a point where he can walk comfortably again.

"Sounds good," Sam says, motioning to their waiter. "La cuenta, por favor."

Ryan finishes off the last of his beer as Sam deals with the check, then gets to his feet. The view out to sea is so beautiful that it's almost hard to turn his back on it, but soon they're setting out on the walk back into town. 

"Hey, there's a wine shop." Sam says halfway up the hill to the plaza. "Red or white?"

Covering his mouth, Ryan snickers into his hand. "Let's get a good chewy red," he suggests. He really needs to get a look at the bottle first.

Luckily the sales guy is busy with another customer and Sam and Ryan are left to their own devices. "What about some champagne instead?" Sam teases, holding up a magnum.

Ryan eyes the bottle warily. "Umm..." He hesitates, looking up at his lover, and he catches the laughter in Sam's eyes. "You're so mean."

Sam just grins. "At least I didn't suggest that one," he says, nodding at a jeroboam.

"Yeah..." Ryan blinks. "What is that, three liters? Holy crap." He feels his hole clench defensively just at the suggestion. "Yeah, no. Mercy," he begs in a whisper.

"Mercy?" Sam's grin widens. "I'm not sure I know what that means," he teases, but he puts the magnum back and moves on from the champagne section. 

"I shouldn't have given up that safeword, huh?" Ryan grins, totally teasing. He hasn't regretted that decision once. "How about a nice Merlot?"

"This looks like a good one," Sam says, picking up a bottle with a nice smooth rounded bottom. 

Eyeing the bottle, Ryan tries to imagine how it will feel to take it. But he knows that no amount of mental preparation can truly get him ready. "There's this thing athletes are supposed to do, where they visualize themselves winning. To help make it happen," Ryan says softly. "So you know where I'm visualizing that."

"Yeah?" Arousal curls in the pit of Sam's stomach and he checks to make sure the sales guy's still being kept busy. "And how are you visualizing it feeling?"

Ryan's breath catches, knotted lust and fear coiling up tight in his gut. "I..." he trails off, and swallows hard. "I'm... visualizing... that I'm going to need a cock ring, Sir," he whispers. Big time.

Fuck. Sam's cock throbs and he licks his lips. "I'll make sure you have one," he says, thinking they're both going to need one if they dwell on the issue much longer. "Do you want anything else? For drinking, I mean."

For a moment, Ryan considers. Is he going to need another bottle of wine all to himself once they finish? _Christ_. "Nah," he says, shaking his head. "Just this."

The sales guy is finally free and they have him ring up the bottle. He tries to convince them they could use another bottle or two but Sam lets him know this is all they need for tonight, with a quick grin and sideways glance at Ryan. "Isn't it?"

"Definitely," Ryan agrees, giving the salesman a tight smile. "One is enough." He takes the sack with the wine and follows Sam back out into the sunshine.

Sam's chuckling. "Sorry," he says when they're outside. "I couldn't resist."

"Yeah, I'm sure you couldn't," Ryan murmurs, but he's grinning now. He lets the back of his hand just brush against Sam's fingers as they walk. He's nervous as hell, but excited, too. And well aware he's got a lot of time to get through before tonight.

Sam smiles at the brush of fingers, knowing it's on purpose, the only touch allowed to them. "There's the plaza," he says, pointing up ahead. "And the church." They've been down to the waterfront before this but haven't made it to town square.

"It's gorgeous. Can you imagine living here? It's so idyllic," Ryan says, looking around at everything, the bustling shops and restaurants and the classic Spanish architecture of the small white church. He feels worlds away from everything else.

"Hey. I quite like our home," Sam says, although he does see the appeal of living in a place like this. With Ryan. But then again, he could probably live anywhere with Ryan.

"I love our home," Ryan tells him, smiling sidelong at his lover. "I'm just amazed there are still places like this in the world, you know? So pristine-looking."

Sam nods. "They white-wash the church every spring and scrub the tiles in the plaza and on all the buildings," he says. "Can you imagine if we could do that in L.A.? Just scrub everything clean." He grins.

"God. There'd be riots," Ryan mutters, and has to laugh. "How about here?" he asks, gesturing towards a small beautifully-decorated shop. "You said your mum wants some lace? Is it all handmade here?"

"Some of it's machine-made so she told me to be careful and make sure it's authentically handmade," Sam says, walking towards the shop and opening the door for Ryan. "Apparently the machine-made stuff looks too perfect."

"Ahh. Okay," Ryan says, a little intimidated by the task. _Too_ perfect?  "So we're looking for something with flaws?" He reaches out and traces his finger lightly over a beautiful piece of lace with a medallion pattern.

"I guess so," Sam says with a light shrug. "Or just. I don't know. A little more rustic?" He looks at the piece Ryan's touching. "That looks handmade to me." But he frowns at the other pieces surrounding them, examining a few more closely.

Ryan bites his lip, but the grin creeps out anyway. "I think we're totally out of our depth here," he says, looking around and catching the eye of a young woman who appears to work there. "Señorita?" he asks, sure he's mangling the language. He points at the lace. "Por mano?"

"Si," the young woman says with a smile. "All our lace is by hand," she continues in slightly halting English. "This," she takes a piece out from behind the counter, "is by machine. You can see how everything is the same." She hands the medallion to Ryan to examine.

"There you go." All right, Ryan can sort of tell a difference. He angles the machine-made lace towards Sam. "Maybe I'll get my mum a nice tablecloth. She'd like that."

Sam still can't really tell the difference but he buys the explanation and the girl's claim that everything in the shop is handmade. "Sounds good. Maybe I'll get the same. You want to choose for them both?" God knows, Ryan's better at this kind of thing than he is.

"Sure," Ryan chuckles. "We'll just hold off introducing them to each other so they won't know we got them the same thing." Not that he's prepared for his mum and Sam's mum to compare notes anytime soon anyway.

"My mum would be okay with it," Sam says, watching Ryan choose two different tablecloths. "She knows I don't have any taste when it comes to stuff like this."

"You're kidding. We actually found something you can't do?" Ryan asks with a smile, carrying their purchases over to the cash register. He digs the unfamiliar money out of his pocket and starts to count out bills.

"You should let me cover this," Sam murmurs, credit card in hand, his words for Ryan alone. "They're pretty expensive."

Ryan's jaw tightens. "No," he whispers back. If he can't even afford a present for his mum... That's just fucking embarrassing. "Thanks."

"Okay." Sam know well enough to back off and he waits until Ryan's done to pay for his mum's tablecloth then risks testing the girl's English. "Do you know where we'd find shotglasses?" She gives him a blank look. "Um." He mimes downing a shot.

"Ah! Si," she exclaims, gesturing that they should head past the church then to the left then to the right again. "The sign. It has a..." she frowns and makes a sound like a donkey.

"A donkey?"

"Si!" She grins at them both, so glad she could help.

Forcing a smile, Ryan nods at her. "Gracias." He adds their shopping bag to the one already in his hand, shoving his other hand in his pocket. God, he hates it when the subject of his finances comes up, however indirectly.

They walk for a few minutes in silence, following the girl's directions. Sam sighs softly, looking away, guilt washing over him at ruining their day. He glances back at Ryan and nudges him with his shoulder. "Sorry."

"For what? Trying to take care of me?" Ryan chews on his bottom lip for a moment, then says softly, "I'm sorry I'm not better with it." Although he has certainly come a long way since the beginning.

Relieved Ryan's not actually angry with him, Sam smiles, brushing their fingers together. "Is there anything I could do to make it easier?" he asks. "Put some money in your account? Get you a credit card? I mean, we joked about you being my personal assistant but really, look at all the shit you do for me. If I actually had someone else doing all this, I'd be paying them. A lot."

Ryan snorts a laugh. "Are you kidding? I'd pay you for the chance to do it. You know, if I could afford it." He shrugs after thinking a moment, then admits quietly, "A credit card might be good." Fuck he feels mortified right now. "But, you know, only for when I need it."

"Yeah, of course," Sam says, nodding, trying not to give away just how fucking happy he is that Ryan's going to let him do this for him. "I'll call tomorrow and get one sent out."

"Okay." _Christ_. Ryan's all good with spending Sam's money for Sam's direct benefit, but it freaks him out that he needs it for himself. "What are we looking for again?" he asks, eager to change the subject. "A donkey?"

Sam laughs and nods, remembering the girl's impression. He squints at the signs up ahead. "Is that supposed to be a donkey?" he asks, pointing at one. He cocks his head to the side, trying to figure out if it looks any better that way.

"Um. I guess?" Ryan narrows his eyes, then shrugs. "Nope. Can't think of a good ass joke. Let's check it out." The door of the shop is propped wide open to let in the fresh sea breeze, and Ryan gestures Sam ahead of him.

Sam walks in and blows out a soft breath. "Yeah. I think she sent us to the right place." In fact, the shop has nothing but glassware in it. Mugs, glasses, signs, trivets, figurines. "I'm not sure what any of it has to do with donkeys though..."

"Are donkeys, like, sacred to the island's people or something?" Ryan starts to browse, careful not to let his shopping sacks hit anything. Then they'd have to buy the place. He picks up a delicate champagne flute, admiring the design, then sets it back on the shelf and looks around. "I don't know," he says, his voice heavy with doubt. "This stuff might not be tacky enough for Tim."

"Perdon, senor?" This time it's Sam turn."We're looking for a shotglass?" He mimes throwing back a shot again.

"Si, si," the owner says with a long-suffering sigh, heaving his bulk from the stool behind the cash register. He leads them towards the back of the store where there's an entire shelf of shot glasses. Motioning at the selection with a huge meaty paw.

Sam makes a face over the guy's attitude at Ryan but quickly smartens up when the man turns back to them. "Gracias."

"De nada," the man says, but another sigh makes it clear that really, it _is_ a big deal.

Struggling to keep a straight face, Ryan watches him go. Then he whispers to Sam, "You made him get _up_. Honestly!" He snickers, then turns to inspect the wares. "We want awful," he tells his lover. He picks up a glass with a ceramic worm sitting inside. "Something that says 'from the Canary Islands with love.'"

"Those ones are pretty tacky," Sam says, pointing at some incredibly colourful ones with the map of Tenerife on them. "Although I like the worm."

"Those are indeed ugly," Ryan muses. He picks up one of the glasses, squinting at it as he tries to figure out where their location is right now. "Good choice." He looks up, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the shop owner. "How pissed off do you think he's going to be if we only buy one thing?"

"We could buy one for ourselves," Sam suggests. "Unless there's something else you like." The rest of the stuff in the shop is gorgeous. "We can always have something shipped back home."

It's tempting, looking around. But... Ryan shakes his head. "I really like that we don't have much stuff," he says, thinking back to their conversation of earlier. "If we ever decide to move somewhere else, it won't take much. We're not weighed down." He gives Sam a grin. "Let's get out of here."

"What about the shotglass? Are you getting that?"

"Yep, this one with the map," Ryan says, choosing one of the gaudiest. "I think it's perfect." He takes the glass over to the shop owner, grinning when the man rolls his eyes. Handing over some cash, Ryan makes a point of giving the owner a sunny smile with his thanks.

"Clearly the amazing weather doesn't make everyone happy," Sam says quietly as they're leaving.

Ryan laughs aloud. "Yeah," he agrees. "But, you know what? I'd be happy with you in a blizzard."

"You sure about that?" Sam teases. "What if I was shooting in the arctic for 3 or 4 months?"

"Then we'd make use of a lot of body heat," Ryan insists with a grin. He drops his voice. "And you could fuck me in front of a roaring fireplace."

"Okay, so there might be some perks," Sam allows, his shorts tightening again. "But are you telling me you'd go wherever I go no matter what - no matter how unbearable the conditions?"

Shaking his head with a smile, Ryan shoots his lover a look. "You know I would. Because it would be unbearable without you."

"Then we'd better tell everyone you're my P.A. because at some point they're all gonna wonder what the fuck you're doing," Sam says, his chest tight with the thought that Ryan means it. That he's really always going to be there. "This," he gestures around them, "is understandable. Darkest jungles of Borneo, not so much."

"I don't know. I've always wanted to travel," Ryan says with a shrug. "But your career comes first. If you really think people are getting suspicious then, yeah, we should probably do something."

"Maybe not yet, but I expect they will be," Sam says, wondering if he's just being paranoid. "I guess we can always deal with it as it comes up."

Ryan changes direction, making his way to a stone path that overlooks the ocean. "Probably better to deal with it before that," he murmurs, seriously considering the problem. "Or _that_ will look suspicious." He frowns at Sam, frustrated.

"I just think if we say you're my P.A. and I actually pay you a salary," Sam says, looking out over the water, "then you have a built-in reason for travelling with me, whether it's for work or when I'm going back and forth to see Natalie, and you actually have a pretty damn good reason for living with me as well. We'll point out you have a career of your own, but this supports you so you can do that." The last thing he wants to do is take away from Ryan's songwriting.

Slowly, Ryan nods. "What does a P.A. do, exactly?" he asks, studying Sam's profile. "Cooking, laundry? Taking care of excess wine bottles?"

"Yeah. Making sure I'm where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be," Sam says with a smile. "Jack-of-all-trades."

"I don't get it," Ryan says after a moment. "Is the idea that people somehow become incapable of taking care of themselves, the more famous they get?"

Sam laughs. "I think it's more that we're supposed to concentrate on acting, so having someone to do the rest of it supposedly frees us to do that." He smiles at Ryan. "I don't expect you to do everything for me, you know that, and it won't change just because we give you a job title and a salary."

"Eh, I don't know." Ryan shakes his head, biting back a grin. "I mean, what kind of perks are we talking about here? Benefits?"

"Hot monkey sex with your boss," Sam suggests. "Being spanked or tormented at least twice a week." He grins. "Or were you talking about travelling the world and attending all the fabulous industry parties?"

Ryan shakes his head, looking at Sam again. "I'm more interested in the former." Much more. "Do you promise to sexually harass me on a regular basis, boss?"

"I promise to harass you on an almost _daily_ basis," Sam says, hand held to his heart.

Laughing, Ryan switches the grocery sacks from one hand to the other, keeping his hands busy so he doesn't reach for Sam. "Then I accept." He hopes it will make things easier on both of them.  



End file.
